


Merthur, Untold

by demonGirl_yasha



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Dark Arthur, M/M, Merthur - Freeform, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-26 01:28:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9855956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demonGirl_yasha/pseuds/demonGirl_yasha
Summary: Merlin was stunned by Arthur’s darkness yet thankful for it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is unbeta'd and English is not my native language, any mistakes are mine. This is a MerlinXDracula Untold fic. I used the movie script and also the scenes and lines from the TV series. I changed a few details and added some original characters. I do not own Merlin(TV). This is a fan based work.

The scent of crisp air filtered through the drapes suggested it was early morning; soon first light would consume the lands of Camelot.

Merlin’s eyes snapped open, startled, his eyes scanned the darkened room, and the candles had burnt out sometime in the night. An arm wrapped around his waist and pulled him into a hard chest, “Go back to sleep,” whispered a sleepy voice in his ear, followed by a soft kiss to his shoulder and neck. Merlin smiled then sighed, dawn was upon them, it was best to go back to Gaius’ chambers before the court physician woke and found him gone. He would never hear the end of it.

Gaius was suspicious already the day he found a discarded red tunic, the physician knew did not belong to his ward for the cloth was woven by finest threads that only royalty could afford, a certain royalty he might add, was lying on his cupboard floor, that was converted into Merlin’s room.

And a suspicious court physician was a force to reckon with. The old man simply wasn’t going to stop until his suspicions were cleared and Merlin was not looking forward to an endless lecture about decency and decorum.

With another sigh, Merlin carefully untangled the arm from his waist and gently got out of bed, so as not to woken his  _prattiness_ , lest they would want to deal with a cranky Arthur the rest of the day, nobody wanted that. The king was a prat already on a daily basis.

Merlin picked up his clothes and redressed himself. He picked up the rest of the clothing, folded them neatly and placed them on Arthur’s oak table; he would take care of them later. He contemplated on taking the shirt his king gave to him in replacement for the ratty old shirt that was destroyed on purpose, he scoffed, placed the shirt besides the royal prat’s clothing. Guess, he would be mending clothes to occupy his time before he served Arthur his breakfast.

“Merlin,” Arthur groaned from beneath the blankets, “come back to bed.”

Merlin walked to the side of the bed and sat beside Arthur, the king curled himself around him like cat, “I’ll let you sleep for couple more hours then I’ll be back with a delicious breakfast,” he leaned down to give Arthur a chaste kiss, however the king had another agenda.

Merlin let out a surprised squeal when his back landed on soft blankets, he was sure he heard a word girl somewhere in there too, Arthur loomed above him, “Come on. Let me up, dollop-head,” he laughed softly, careful not to alert the guards and woke the whole castle; they would be in for a great scandal.

“No,” Arthur whispered, placing both of Merlin’s wrists above his head, “My breakfast is already here,” blankets pooled behind his legs as the king settled comfortably between Merlin’s clothed thighs, revealing expanse of skin littered with battle scars, muscular back and taut bum.

“Come on, Arthur. Let me go,” Merlin whispered, pulled his hands free and played with the king’s hair.

“Never,” Arthur whispered back, roaming his hand underneath Merlin’s tunic and further south undoing the boy’s trousers,” You belong here,” the king said as he placed open-mouthed kisses on Merlin’s neck and coaxing the lax genitals to risen.

“Arthur,” Merlin moaned, reveling at the tingling sensations his king bestowed on him. He pulled the king closer, running his hands down his back, palms tracing the scars, he could feel Arthur’s awakened rod pressed firmly on his stomach, the tip was leaking its desire. He wished they could stay like this forever…free to love and be loved…free to be themselves…

Then Merlin’s hazy mind got their priorities straight, it would not bid well for Camelot to have a scandal so early on Arthur’s reign.

Merlin grabbed the king’s face and slotted his lips against his majesty, kissing him with all his passion, all his love, and Arthur responded just as hotly, he invited his tongue into the hot cavern and was accepted and played lovingly inside. Merlin took both of their aching rods into his hand; it was both hot and hard against his palm, against each other. He rubbed their rods together, his hand barely containing them, Arthur wrapped his own hand around them and helped him brought themselves to completion. They came gasping into each other’s mouth.

“That was…amazing, Sire,” Merlin gasped, pressing a loving kiss to the king’s cheek, “but I really must go. Soon, it will be light.”

Arthur tensed above him; just like that the magic was broken…

“You belong here,” Arthur growled; the atmosphere around them changed in rapid, “With me. By my side.”

“Arthur, please,” Merlin pleaded, cupping the king’s cheek, “let’s not do this,” a look of hurt passed his face as Arthur shrugged his hand, lifted his body and rolled to his side. Merlin was already willing to let true love slipped through his fingers.

There were already talks and whispers amongst the people of Camelot, they might had conceived Merlin a buffoon, but he was more perceptive and observant, he was not ignorant to the gossips, ugly gossips, that floated around the citadel and the lower towns; the names and things that he was called, very unpleasant to the ears, but endured for his king, all of it for his king.

“Arthur,” Merlin called softly, touching the king’s rigid back, “there were talks already. I just don’t want to give them more reason to spread rumors.”

“What rumor? It is true that I’m bedding you! And whatever it is that I am doing in the privacy of my chambers is nobody’s affairs,” Arthur said angrily, “I am the King! People should know better to hold their tongues!”

“You may be the king, Arthur, but you cannot change people’s opinion even if you commanded it,” Merlin gently reasoned, coaxing Arthur to turn to him.

“Fine,” Arthur said, obviously hurt, “Go.”

“Dollop-head,” Merlin tried again, pressing his forehead against the back of the king’s neck.

Moments passed with nothing but silence…

“I’ll be back with your breakfast,” Merlin sighed, placed a soft kiss to Arthur’s neck and left the chambers with a heavy heart.

  
#####

  
They left at first light; patrolling party headed by the King himself rode towards the northern borders of Camelot, to investigate the reports of Saxon Army sightings. If anyone noticed the state of their sovereign’s mood or the lack of black-haired, blue-eyed companion, or the fact that their king needed not be in this patrol, none of the knights commented on it, or was brave enough to cross-path with royal crankiness. Even, Gwaine kept his mouth closed.

They rode the entire morning, and rested only once for a brief moment, to water the horses and quickly consume breakfast. They checked the outlying villages, checked their crops, their well-being, and gathered reports of foreign scouts and bandits.

Their investigation led them at the foot of Broken-Tooth, a dark, rocky mountain that served as a border between Camelot’s and Lot’s kingdom.

Shade had eclipsed the mountain, Arthur craned around; searching in the falling light…he could not hear anything over the white-noise rush of the river. Saxon weapons were scattered everywhere. A battalions worth of armor peeled off and shredded, evidence of a total disaster…but there were no bodies.

“There!,” shouted Arthur, pointing at a helmet in-between rocks on the stream, “Bring it to me.”

“It was washed down from there, “Gwaine said, gaze eyeing the dark mountain, handed the helmet to Arthur.

Arthur examined the helmet, there was a hole in it, the size of a man’s screaming mouth, and it looked bitten straight through, “Saxon scouts. What were they doing here?” he asked, lifting his gaze to the mountain, “Andrae! Nicholae! With me,” he ordered, dropping the helmet to the ground, “We’ll go check the mountain.”

“It’s getting dark, Arthur,” Leon said, regarding the sky then asked, “What will you do if you come across Saxon army?”

“I’ll do what kings do best…negotiate,” Arthur said confidently.

Leon pulled a face, he was not liking it, could be dangerous.

“Go back to the castle, “the King ordered, “Double the sentries. These are Saxons, whatever they scout, they conquer. And if the Saxons indeed trespass our land, it’s an act of war.”

  
#####

  
Arthur and his knights hiked a steep trail of unforgiving stone up Broken-Tooth. Clouds smudged the peak, hiding it in shadows. Arthur looked up, eyes squinting to look passed the shrouding mist, he then saw a door high up on the mountain’s jugged summit.

At the end of the trail, an ancient, narrow staircase greeted their view, it was wrapped up the sheer cliff, the edge of the stairs was a long fall straight to the river.

Arthur and his men grounded themselves, drew their swords…and proceeded to climb. They entered the tunnel, sword first, then headed down into the murky half-light. The narrow space opened up into a mad warp of decayed world.

The cave was eerily quiet and dark, cold…dead. Sense of foreboding crept up Arthur’s spine as they ventured deeper into it, even with two well-lighted torches they barely saw what was in front of them.

Arthur’s boot landed on the stony ground, he felt something crushed under his weight. He took the torch from Andrae’s hand crouched on the ground, “Bones,” he said, examining the crushed objects in his hand, “crushed human bones.”

The king scanned the cavern, body tensed in abject horror as more and more bones entered his sight, “Saxons didn’t do it. We leave now.”

Somewhere from the dark corner, something moved…it had moved too fast giving them no chance to witness its figure. They drew their swords, alert and more tensed, waiting in the dark. Behind them, Nicholae screamed as he was hauled up in the air, his sounds ceased abruptly as his lifeless body was dropped to the ground.

“Run!” Arthur shouted, jerking Andrae to move, “Run back to the entrance!”

King and knight ran to the mouth of the cave, rays of setting sun receding, giving them enough light to guide their hurried steps. They came nearly at the opening when something blurred went past them, tackling the knight to the ground, draining the blood out of the man. The knight struggled, desperately clinging to his diminishing strength in an attempt to abort his impending demise.

Arthur swung his sword and landed a blow, dragging the creature’s attention on him; it left the dying knight and attacked the king. The swung his sword again, landed another blow, the creature howled in anger rather than in pain and flung the offending presence of the king.

Arthur landed on his back, pointy rocks dug into his armor as he scrambled away. The creature was about to lunge another attack, aiming for a kill—Arthur held his sword in front of him—the rays of the sun bounced off his weapon and hit the creature, it hissed and a foul smell of burning flesh permeated the dank air.

In the vestiges of the dying light, Arthur was invited to a sight that came straight from a nightmare; pale, almost gray skin and red-eyes; bore into him, it hissed once more then retreated back to the dark cavern. Arthur stared at his sword in amazement as the creature’s blood evaporated under the light.

  
####

  
Arthur rode back to Camelot as if the spawn of the devil himself was upon him. He had urged his horse beyond its endurance, the beast had whined for water and rest but he ignored it. He was dead-tired, hungry, and admittedly spooked when he had reached the safety of the citadel. He head straight to the only person he knew that could give him answers…

Gaius searched through his many books and scrolls determined to give the agitated sovereign some answers. Bespectacled eyes scanned and skip-read on every page until he came across on one that contained an answer.  
On the yellowish page of a book, a figure was drawn. Arthur’s eyes widened as the memory of the not so long ago horror flooded him dread, “What is that?” he asked.

“That,” Gaius said, pointing a crooked finger at the yellowing figure, “I believe was the creature you encountered, Sire. Four nights ago, words from traders that a creature haunts the mountain, thinking that it was only some old-wives tale, I thought of it as nothing of importance. I would not have believed it myself had you not relayed your misfortune.”

Gaius turned more pages of the old tome, face turning into a frown, faced his king, “A vampire, from an old word “pi”, to drink. The beast was once a mortal who summoned a demon from the depths of hell to trade for his dark power. The demon tricked the man, granting his wish, but his price was an eternity condemned to the darkness of that cave, where he will remains until he finds another to set him free.,” Gaius said grimly, “Now, you know its true face.”

“The people of Camelot live in enough fear of the Saxon’s return, “Arthur said, letting out a long suffering sigh, “Promise me, Gaius, that you will guard this secret. Even to Merlin.”

“Yes, Sire.”

  
####

  
“Arthur!”

A delighted gasp greeted the King as he entered his chambers.

The room was warm with lighted candles that littered the room. Merlin was not alone, with him were two more servants, preparing his bath. He had long ago, even before they had become lovers, taken the menial tasks off Merlin’s duties, leaving the boy to only attend to his clothes and food.

In few steps, Arthur had crossed the threshold, completely ignoring the other occupants in the room and gathered Merlin to his chest, he held him tight as if he was trying to mold their bodies into one, “I’m sorry about this morning, “ Arthur said, burying his face into Merlin’s neck.

Merlin melted into the embrace, “That is not important anymore,” he sighed, forgiving his king, “You are here that is important.”

Arthur winced when tentative fingers touched the scratches on the side of his face, “Where were you?” Merlin inquired, checking him for more injuries. “When the patrol came back without you…I thought something had happened…I w-was scared…don’t do that again, “Merlin chastised.

Arthur kissed his forehead, wordlessly asking for forgiveness for worrying his lover, and then he released his hold and went to his closet, rummaging through its contents.

“Arthur?”

The king had pulled out a rather small tunic, probably an old one of his, with a triumphant smile he walked to Merlin and handed the clothing, “Change into this and meet me in the throne room, “he said, placing a chaste kiss on the confused Merlin’s lips, then sauntered out of the chambers.

  
####

  
Merlin arrived at the throne room an hour after his pratiness left the chambers, obviously uncomfortable to be seen wearing a royal garb. His nervousness escalated when he entered and saw the assembly inside.

Arthur was on his throne, Geoffrey of Monmouth was at his right and Gaius, his mentor and court physician was at his left, a small smile upon his lips. The knights formed two lines on each side of the throne, creating a path; all were wearing smiles and looking at him somewhat teasingly. Lancelot’s smile was proud and gentle compared to Gwaine’s who had winked and wriggled his eyebrows at him for good measure. Out of the corner of his eyes, Merlin saw the small gathering of royal council, among them was Lord Agravaine, the king’s uncle; they were not smiling but looked at him with reluctant respect.

Arthur stepped from the dais and extended a hand to Merlin, he was smiling broadly but somewhat tense.

“Arthur, what’s going on?” Merlin asked nervously as he accepted the king’s offered hand.

“Geoffrey, “Arthur called; the royal archivist came forward, in his hands was a well-crafted circlet.

“Merlin, will you do me the honor of becoming my consort?” Arthur asked, almost pleaded as he looked at him.

“……” Merlin was reeling, too stunned by the event to focus. Him. Royal Consort. Arthur was asking to marry him…

“Merlin,” Arthur called, squeezing Merlin’s hand gently to gain his attention, “Say yes, you daft.”

“Sire, “Geoffrey of Monmouth chastised, “I am not accepting an answer under duress,“ the archivist turned to Merlin, eyes soft, “My boy, what is your answer?”

“Y-yes,” Merlin choked, his face was lit with a smile as tears streamed down his cheeks unnoticed.  
 

####  
 

The ceremony passed on in a blur, with Merlin in a wonderful daze, dazed enough to remember only the half of it. If Arthur knew, he would surely have had a conniption.

“Merlin,” Arthur called softly, gaining his wandering attention for the umpteenth time, “I know you are daft, but I accepted it long ago that it was part of your charm, “king said teasingly, “Don’t be shy now. Take off your clothes.”

Merlin’s ears burned, he felt his heart was trying to jump out of his ribcage. He looked at Arthur through his lashes, teeth worrying his lips, “W-will you b-blow out the c-candles, p-please?” he stuttered shyly.

Arthur looked at his new consort with fondness, “Come on, now. We have done it plenty times; there is nothing in your body I wouldn’t be proud of.”

It was true they had acted on it far too many times and Merlin had lost track long ago on how many, not that he was keeping tabs on it. No. Those times were different, the whispered words and wanton caresses were hidden in the darkness of the king’s chambers, of the caves and woods.

Merlin looked at Arthur; Arthur looked back at him with playfulness and a hint pleading in his eyes. Merlin knew the moment he met Arthur, he would do anything for his sovereign. He nodded, had given Arthur the command of his body along with heart a long time ago, and would give it again.

Arthur watched with rapt fascination and lust as Merlin unraveled himself in front of him: black hair contrasted the milky white skin, long limbs and narrow waist, taut but skinny. A frown graced his face as he looked closely at Merlin’s physique, he could almost count his ribcage. He would see to it that Merlin would not skip any more meals.

“Come here,” Arthur beckoned, opening his arms.

Merlin stepped into the embrace and willingly accepted the King’s kisses. One hand had settled on his bum, kneading the supple flesh while other roamed on his back, fingers tracing his spine, it sent wonderful tingles and awakened his desires.

“You’re far too dressed for the occasion, Sire,” Merlin whispered, lips swollen and pupils blown wild with lust.

Arthur chuckled deeply and had Merlin helped him with his clothes.

“Merlin,” Arthur groaned as his consort’s hand caressed the hard flesh at his groin. He smiled as his own hand found Merlin’s rod and squeezed gently, earning a soft gasp.

“I want you, Arthur, “Merlin mewled, thrusting his hips, “I want you so much it hurts.”

“I want nothing more than to bury myself inside you and feel you surrounding me, “Arthur gasped, controlling his desire as he lifted Merlin onto their bed, “I want my seed to fill you as you writhe and scream my name in pleasure only my body can give you.”

“Please,” Merlin begged.

Arthur rolled them so Merlin was draped over his chest and urged him to explore his body. Merlin suckled at his lobe, the king’s moan encouraging him to taste different territory. Arthur’s hand caressed Merlin’s back, cupping creamy bums and kneading them as his lover made love to his neck and jaw. He lifted Merlin to press their mouths; his tongue tasted every nuance of Merlin’s warm, wet cavern. As they kiss, their throbbing rods rubbed together and Merlin writhed on Arthur’s body seeking for more.

As their kiss ended, Arthur looked at Merlin. Blue met blue.

“Do you trust me?” Arthur asked.

“With all my heart,” was the immediate response.

“Roll over, love,” Arthur directed.

Merlin obeyed, nervous but eager. He was guided to lie on a pillow canting his hips and his legs were spread wide. Merlin buried his face on his arms, feeling the heat from his cheeks and ears as he blushed from his positioning. He felt snapping his legs close as Arthur knelt between the splayed limbs but he was determined to trust his beloved.

Arthur’s strong hands caressed Merlin’s shoulders, wet and warm open-mouthed kisses and nips followed the path. Merlin gave a low, choked moan as Arthur parted the globes and a wet, tantalizing limb swatted the exposed skin. Merlin began thrusting into the pillow as Arthur held him open. The erotic sensations were engulfing them both in sensual heat and Merlin panted shallowly as the heat grew wilder.

Merlin’s hand gripped the sheets below him, knuckles white as he sobbed openly, not caring anymore to censure his cries of pleasure, he felt the moist appendage circled lazily at his most private part and screamed as it had thrust forcibly inside to explore his tight channel.

Arthur gazed predatorily at the tight portal now displayed openly as he parted Merlin’s cheeks. When the royal consort showed no resistance, he grabbed the jar of oil from the bedside table and poured it liberally at Merlin’s backside. His possessive nature were assuage by the knowledge none had, nor ever would be, this intimate with Merlin. The hard flesh between his thighs throbbed in appreciation as it pooled liquid passion between his parted thighs.

“Roll over, love. Let me see you,” Arthur purred and grinned savagely at the obedience. His eyes roamed over the naked body sprawled wantonly beneath him.

Arthur his fingers liberally with oil and drizzled it empty on his throbbing rod. He slipped a finger inside Merlin’s welcoming heat, slowly, carefully. Arthur progressed to three fingers, thrusting insistently inside tight portal till Merlin thrashed and begged to be filled.

Arthur rolled them again, spreading thighs and planting his feet, “Ride me,” he purred seductively, “I want to see you pleasure yourself on my flesh.”

Merlin rose and straddled his lover, whimpering in need, his weeping member hard and pulsing on his groin. He reached behind him to position the hard flesh of his king at his well-prepared portal and began his descent.

Mouth gaped, Merlin’s face showed pure ecstasy as he impaled himself, feeling each part of his lover pressed deep into him. Panting softly, he sat flushed at Arthur’s groin; hands caressed the king’s lightly haired chest and stomach. He felt Arthur’s hands dug into his hips as he was assisted into bringing themselves to completion.

  
####

  
The chirping of birds outside were carried inside as the gentle breeze billowed through the drapes. Faint light filtered through heavy curtains, the sun had begun it ascent. They lay there quietly, listening to each other’s breathing as they basked in the afterglow of their wedding night.

“We will celebrate our union and officially announced your status at the Feast of Beltane,” Arthur said momentarily, pulling Merlin closer, “I had thought of sending for Hunith but these are dangerous time, I don’t want to risk an ambush. But, once things are settled we will visit Ealdor.”

Merlin smiled at the thoughtfulness of his king, he had wished his mother had been there, sharing his joy at one of the happiest moment in his life. But Arthur was right; recently there were sightings of Saxon army on their borders, as much as he would love to see his mother things could wait a bit.

“What troubles you?” Merlin asked, tracing lazy patterns on Arthur’s chest.

“Nothing. Only the depths of your intelligence,” Arthur replied playfully then winced as a clump of hair from his chest was pulled viciously. He laughed merrily, swatting Merlin’s hand off his chest. Capturing the offending hand, he brought it to his lips and kissed it.

“What attacked you in the mountains?” Merlin urged, “Wolves?”

Arthur smiled softly; one of the endearing qualities he fell for Merlin was his attuned sensitivity to his moods and could read him like a book.

“Bears? Saxons?” Merlin pressed, “Come on, you prat! Tell me.”

Also, one of the many reasons why he sometimes had an urge to wring his little neck was that Merlin could pester him to the ends of the earth.

Merlin let out a startled yelp as he was unceremoniously hauled onto his back; the weight of Arthur covered him and settled between his thighs.

  
####

  
It was the night of Beltane, people from all the lands of Camelot came to the citadel to celebrate the feast with their king and their new prince. The castle was alive with vibrating nobles and villagers alike; the place was bustling with sounds and music, waiting for the arrival of the royal couple.

The king stood, impatiently, behind the changing screen as he waited for Merlin, who had refused to let Arthur have a new manservant, to hand him his trousers and belt, “What’s taking so long?” he asked.

“It’s the feast of Beltane, the king needs to be  _kingly_ ,” came a response from a rather busy consort putting additional hole on the belt, well, more like murdering it with a dagger.

“I don’t look kingly in my undergarments, do I?” Arthur retorted, frowning.

“Wait one second…”

“One,” Arthur counted as he stepped out of the changing screen, finding Merlin as he tried to murder his belt, and cleared his throat.

Merlin immediately ceased what he was doing, faced his husband, schooling his face to somehow look innocent while trying to hide the evidence of his crime behind his back.

“What are you doing?” Arthur inquired, trying to look majestic without trousers.

“Nothing,” was the innocent reply.

“What’s behind your back?”

“Nothing,” Merlin said, sounding like a child, “my hand,” he stretched an arm, placed it behind him, “my other hand,” he stretched his other arm.

Arthur raised a brow, not buying what Merlin was saying nor the look of innocence on his face, he stalked towards his consort and grabbed his shoulders and turned him around and took the belt from his hands, “Why are you putting another hole in this belt?” he asked.

“I was…enhancing it,” Merlin cheekily replied, “for more comfort and ease of use.”

“Are you saying I’m fat?” Arthur asked, insulted.

“No,” Merlin blatantly lied through his teeth, grabbing the belt from the king, “The belt…,” he swallowed, “is just a hole shy away of perfection.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,’ Arthur said, grabbing the poor belt back and wrapped it around his waist to prove that he was still fighting fit, “Come on,” he urged the stubborn belt to close together but said belt had its own agenda.

Merlin crossed his arms as he watched the king compete with the belt, “Don’t be too hard on yourself, a little extra padding goes with the job with all those feasts, banquets and ceremonies,” he said, face dimpling with mirth.

Arthur looked at Merlin, narrowed his eyes at the mischievous smile on his face and reluctantly handed the errant thing, straightening his back, “Not a word of this to anyone,” he said sternly.

Merlin took the belt and kissed his cheek.

 

The Dining Hall was full of noise and music; people were seated at the many long tables littered with food and wine. The servants were floating back and forth to fill empty goblets and trays. The royal couple had chosen to sit with the knights of Camelot and Gaius.

“Ah, crusted caper, my favorite!” Arthur exclaimed, delighted as a servant brought their food.

“Easy now, we don’t want more holes in that belt,” Merlin piped beside his king, smiling.

The knights laughed merrily at that, Gaius had a fond chastising look on his face and Percival choked on his wine and spat it back on his goblet.

Arthur laughed, he leaned beside Merlin and whispered hotly on his ear, “There will be due retribution for that later.”

Merlin’s face colored and he laughed to hide his embarrassment.

“A toast!” Leon announced as he rose from his seat, goblet raised toward their king, Arthur nodded, “Ten years of peace since our King took the throne, “moved the goblet to a smiling but bashful Merlin, “also, a delightful news our king had found his other half, Lord Merlin,” he turned and addressed everyone, “My friends, here’s to twenty more!”

The hall roared with life as sounds of clinking goblets filled the room; music were louder than ever as the people celebrated the feast.

The joyous occasion were interrupted by the sound of metal grating as the large oak door of the hall opened, and entered three Saxon Janissaries, one of which was no doubt of high rank, and stopped in the midst of celebrating mass.

“Welcome,” Arthur greeted, stiffly, as he rose from his seat, “We were not expecting you so soon.”

“King Icil offers his salutations to you,” Janissary soldier said, bright blue eyes turned at Merlin and eyed the consort with unbidden appreciation, “and your prince. It saddened the king to not have witnessed the union.”

Arthur gritted his teeth at the blatant display but reigned on his emotions, “It was a rather abrupt ceremony,” he informed, “Ill rumors were spreading.”

Arthur felt anxious at the arrival of the Saxon soldiers but he was not going to give them any advantage against him, “Give my regards to King Icil. I have his tribute ready.”

“I’m afraid there’s something more than a tribute to discuss.”

“The Saxons have no enemies here.”

“Did you not think we would not notice a battalion of our army missing?” The Janissary drawled, walking towards the king, the other two soldiers walked about the room, in between tables, like they were hunting for a prey.

“I did not kill them,” Arthur’s patient barely hanged by a strand.

“It still inside you, Lord Impaler, “blue eyes bore into Arthur knowingly, “locked in a dark cage, hidden away. But you and I…we both know it’s there.”

“The King’s tribute,” Arthur said, pointing at the chests of silver brought by the castle guards, “take it and leave.”

“Ah! There is one last thing,” the Janissary continued, walking close to where Merlin sat and faced the hall, “King Icil requires one thousand boys to join his army.”

“NO!”

“NEVER!”

Collective protests erupted in the hall. Arthur and his Knights tensed at the declaration, sense of foreboding crept up in each one of them. Leon, Gwaine, Lancelot and Percival had stood and their hands at the pommel of their swords, ready to attack at slightest provocation.

“Join his army?” Arthur inquired tersely, gesturing to his knights to hold their position, “He ended that practice years ago.”

The other two Janissaries walked about the room, inspecting every young boy in each tables, “Don’t” begged a villager as he hold on to his son, “Please!”

“When a soldier is plucked as a child and raised to know no other life, they will kill without question and die without complaint. Any who are fifteen years of age or older will fight in Northumbria. Those ten to fourteen will be made ready to cross the North Sea,” Blue Eyes looked down at a paling Merlin, raising a hand to touch a cheek, “and a gift to honor our King,” he added maliciously, “such beauty to grace the king’s hands.”

Before the daring hand could touch Merlin’s cheek, the Janissary was slammed to the nearest pillar, Arthur saw red and had moved swiftly, sword at the Saxon’s throat as he growled in barely contained anger.

“King Icil expects your obedience, “Blue Eyes said, unfazed by the display of aggression, “after all, did not your own father give you and your mother up without a fight?”

“Do you know who I am?” Arthur hissed.

“You mean who you were. You have no army and no choice,  _King_ ,” Blue Eyes said mockingly, “Follow your orders or suffer consequences. It must be done.”  
 

####  
 

Arthur held Merlin tight against him as they stood by the window of their chamber, the moon casting light on them. After the Saxons left, there was a fiasco at the Council chamber; the members of the court, who had been allies long before his reign, along with his uncle, Lord Agravaine, had rallied against him. Urged him to give what the Saxons wanted, gave up village boys… gave up on Merlin.

So few of them defended the royal couple and the kingdom’s children, one could truly knew allies from foes was by the face of danger.

“You went to live with the Saxons?” Merlin murmured against his chest.

“When two men fight, sometimes to make peace, the loser will give something to the winner. Something they think is valuable,” Arthur answered, recalling a long lost memory of his past, “My father gave us up to the Saxon King to end the practice and to prove his loyalty to the treaty.”

“Were you scared?” Merlin asked, looking up at him.

“I wanted to make my father proud,” Arthur replied evasively, “He was a hard man but he had loved me and my mother on his own way. Courage, anger, even love, none of them matter to a king or a…prince. All that matter was their duty to their people.”

“Were you there a long time?”

“When I came back, I thought I was a man. I wasn’t. I had to meet you for that,” Arthur answered, smiling softly.

“Can you let them take the others?”

“If I don’t he will kill a hundred for each one I save,” Arthur replied, tormented.

“But you know what the Saxons will train these boys to do,” Merlin searched his King’s face, “Arthur?” he asked, worry marring his face, “What are you planning to do?”

“I will negotiate…bargain myself to the new king,” Arthur answered truthfully.

“No,” Merlin protested, “You cannot do that! You are king! Camelot needs you,” he met Arthur’s gaze, eyes determined, “Give me,” he whispered, “Give me to them. It’ll appease their king, then you can negotiate.”

“No, Merlin.”

“What is a life of a servant that to a life of a king?” Merlin argued.

“Merlin!” Arthur shouted, aghast and hurt, he grabbed Merlin by the shoulders, “You know I have cherished you the moment I met you,” he said, shaking the errant boy, he then grasped his upper arms tightly, almost painfully, “Do not insult my affections by regarding low of yourself.”

Merlin gasped, startled by the sudden harshness from his king, guarded tears were now freely flowing from his eyes, “I don’t want to see you hurt,” he said in a small voice.

Arthur’s feature softened as he relent his hold, “Nothing will hurt me more than you gone by my side,” he said gently, wiping at the tears, he gathered Merlin against his chest, “I will find a way,” he promised.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin cried, burying his face in the king’s chest.

“There is nothing to forgive,” Arthur crooned, he swayed them gently, smiling briefly at the hiccupping noises coming from Merlin, he focused on lover’s distress to calm his own.

  
####

  
_Merlin had helped him don his armor that morning, eyes surrounded with dark circles and brimmed with tears, “What if you don’t come back?” he sniffed, strapping the breastplate. If the situation wasn’t so serious, the king would found it adorable._

_“I will,” Arthur answered as he held Merlin’s face in his hands, he memorized the outline of his cheekbones, the curve of his lips; he branded the image to his mind forever._

_Arthur hugged Merlin, rubbing circles on his back, and used his will to contain his emotions, “I need you to take care of the kingdom.”_

_“You better come back, you dollop-head,” Merlin hiccupped, “I care a hell lot about this armor.”_

The King of Camelot arrived at the shore of Meredor, accompanied by Sir Leon and Sir Percival and a few of his castle guards. In the distance, the sea was decorated with white and crimson sails as they rippled in the wind. Countless warships weighted with legions.

“Soon the world will be Saxons,” Arthur’s men said in awe.

Inside King’s tent, Icil, son of Eomer, the former king of the Angles, sat before Arthur and his two knights. About Arthur’s age and physique; the new King of Angles radiated power.

“Lord Impaler, my oldest of friends,” greeted icil, “I miss our days together.”

“All I miss from my time with you is the wine,” Arthur replied truthfully.

“It’s true, my father’s palace was a cruel place for a young boy, far from home,” Icil said, pouring their goblets some wine, “but soon you trained like us…dreamed like us…fought like us. And fight, that you did better than most,” Saxon king said, drank his wine, continued, “So, I am owed a thousand boys. Why have I not seen them?”

“Because you can’t have them,” Arthur answered, resolutely.

King Icil rose a questioning eyebrow at this, curious.

Arthur rose from his chair and humbled himself towards the other king, offering his sword, “I am worth a thousand boys. I’ll go with you in your quest. I’ll fight as your servant,” he said. Leon and Percival followed their king, crouched on their knees and offered their swords. Icil savored the Camelot King’s tempting offer…

“Our enemies will tremble if they knew,” icil said, turned to the knights, “Do you want to know why we call him  _Impaler_?”

Arthur’s body went rigid as if his soul was being exposed.

“My father sent the young Arthur to serve his Vizier in Essex. It was an insult to the Vizier—this young Camelot prince came to help him. So, the Vizier gave him a handful of soldiers and sent him to the fiercest of village, with orders to kill every men, women and child. It was an impossible task. A death sentence,” the Saxon king watched Arthur squirm at the telling of his buried past, “but the young prince did not die. He impaled them all, as is the Saxon way. Eight hundred, so they say. And I believe it. Only young Arthur believed this punishment alone would solve nothing. So, he impaled the Vizier as well.”

Percival was thunderstruck. Leon knew.

“They were women and children. You found a way what we could not,” Icil continued.

“Then accept my offer,” Arthur said, impatient.

“When we were boys, I longed for the day that you would fight at my side,” Icil said, straightening his back, looked down at Arthur, “But now I am king. What need have I for one soldier?”

“You know I’m more than a soldier…”

Icil scoffed at the audacity, “I will have that thousand boys and one more.”

Arthur felt the strength abandoned him as the Saxon king unrolled a parchment, detailing the terms, “The whelp is a grown man now. A true beauty, I hear. Under your tutelage, I am certain he is most behaved and well-trained, “Icil said, cutting his thumb with a blade, pressed it to the parchment and left his mark in blood.

“Please,” Arthur begged, pride set aside.

“What is one servant?” Icil asked, amused,” You are King. There will be more who will eagerly spread their thighs for you.”

  
####  
 

The Saxon king had given him two weeks to complete the task. Arthur had sent word to their neighboring kingdoms, soliciting their aid, none had answered. The court members had grown desperate, taking the matter into their own hands.

Arthur felt ill as he rode to the plains of Meredor, his most trusted knights: Leon, Gwaine, Lancelot and Percival, hot on his tail. They were riding back to Camelot from Carleon, they had been in Queen Annis audience, but the Queen had unwillingly refused to aid Camelot.

On their way, they were intercepted by a bloodied Elyan, hand held at his side, reported that the royal consort had been abducted then promptly passed on the dirt.

They arrived at the plains, a demented place away from farm and villages. From a distance, they saw two small groups facing together, separated only by a few paces. Arthur felt wrecked as he saw Merlin, being held by hid uncle. The Saxons presented a parchment; Agravaine cut his thumb and imprinted his agreement.

Arthur saw red at the utter betrayal of his council. He un-mounted his horse and stalked towards the groups, his knights following. Rage filled his heart as look at Merlin’s face, silent resignation then he recognized his fear.

“Peace can’t be bought cheaply,” a Janissary officer said.

“He is my husband,” Arthur said coldly, taking hold of Merlin.

“It would start a war,” Agravaine hissed lowly.

“So start it.”

“I will not allow my King to be disappointed,” the Janissary said, drawing his sword.

The Saxons closed in on Arthur, Janissaries the six of them; dead eyes and weapons drawn.

Merlin tripped as he was pushed towards Lancelot, the other knights formed a wall around them. Lancelot shielded Merlin with his body, “Don’t watch,” he whispered, before Arthur’s sword hit its target.

Blood from the sliced off arm rained on the ground, the Janissary screamed in pain then no more as his head fell off his shoulders.

Filled with rage, Arthur cut his way through the remaining Saxons, gutted them. Memorized movement from long ago eased his path. One by one, Saxon soldiers fell to their feet.

Merlin’s eyes were shut tight as he clung to Lancelot, whimpering, his hearing were not spared by the sounds of blade meeting flesh; the cries of men dying.

Then all was quiet saved from one heavy breathing, Merlin dared to open his eyes…the delegation of Saxons lied dead…Arthur stood in the middle, covered in blood with a well-used sword and heaving chest.

Merlin was stunned by Arthur’s darkness yet thankful for it. He stepped from Lancelot’s hold and walked towards the bloodied king…he faltered in his steps…

“Don’t,” Arthur ordered, voice hoarse, “Don’t come near me.”

Face determined, Merlin continued his approach. He stood before his king and cupped a bloody cheek.

“How can you love me?” Arthur asked as he leaned in to the touch, his one arm hesitantly wrapped around Merlin while the other refused to relinquish its hold on his sword.

“I know your heart,” Merlin answered, faithfully, wiping the blood on Arthur’s cheek.

Arthur looked down on Merlin. Their eyes met with understanding. They were in this together. He kissed him roughly, desperately.

Lord Agravaine stalked towards the couple, brandishing a parchment, “You have killed us all for what you have done! For what? For a servant!?” he spat, angrily.

“Close your eyes,” Arthur whispered.

Merlin obeyed, tears slipped his eyes. He knew what was going to happen.

The sound of scream…plea…and gurgling echoed through the plains as Arthur hacked and slashed his uncle. Soon, Lord Agravaine was no more than a heap of bloodied body on the desolated place.

Arthur stood in the middle of his bloodbath, his mind working as his eyes observed his surroundings. Icil’s men would be marching towards Camelot. An impossible idea formed in his mind…

“Get back to the castle,” Arthur ordered, placing Merlin’s care into Lancelot’s once more, “They will be riding soon.”

Arthur mounted his horse in haste, facing in another direction.

“Where are you going?” Leon asked.

“Whatever haunted Broken-Tooth. I know it kill Saxons.”

  
####  
 

It was sundown when Arthur reached the top of the mountain; he had retraced his steps through the tunnels and reached the opening. He grounded himself, sword drawn. Arthur heard something was approaching, senses alert he braced for an attack…his back against a wall.

He felt a cold breath dampened his ear…he looked up…

Red eyes looking back at him. There was a blur of movement—then darkness.

When consciousness came to him, Arthur realized he was upside down, hung from the ceiling by a chain around his ankles. Like freshly killed game; hung to drain. Below him the ground was stained black.

Arthur struggled to no avail, his arms were bound. His armor and sword were gone. His struggle ceased as soon as he saw the hanging bodies that accompanied him. Most are bloodless corpses but a few are still alive…peasants, travellers, even unlucky Saxons…his mind and body wanted to fall apart, to escaped the madness but he kept himself together, forced his mind to think.

A figure emerged from the dark; horror gripped Arthur as the creature lazily walked amongst the hanging corpses…and paused before an unconscious Saxon.

The touched of cold hand roused the soldier, it flailed, much to the delight of the creature, “Better,” the creature said.

The creature sliced a sharp fingernail across the Saxon’s throat, the sound of draining liquid reverberated beneath him. Arthur, gone cold with fright as the creature moved down the row towards him.

“I am the King of this land,” Arthur said with false bravado.

“What land is that?” the creature paid him no heed.

“Here to the banks of Camelot,” Arthur answered.

“Oh. Is that all? “It replied, seemingly shrugged as it sliced another Saxon down the line moving closer.

“These soldiers are my enemies,” Arthur fought hard to keep his nerve.

“Ah,” it chuckled, “No, they will not bother you again.”

The creature was almost upon him, Arthur swept his eyes in his murky surroundings, then it dawned on him as he struggled to contain his horror as the creature was just a breath away, pressing a sharp nail to his jugular, “You are that man,’ Arthur whispered to himself, “the one that sold his soul."

Intrigued, the creature paused and looked at the King through gleaming red eyes.

“Your story is legend amongst the kings,” Arthur said.

After a moment of silence the creature spoke, “You lie. I murdered friends. I destroyed my enemies. I spilled the blood of thousands.”

Arthur swallowed hard, he had to think quickly, “But now you are god, with powers that rivaled a thousand warriors.”

The creature proudly set its shoulders, “You are wise as you are pleasing to the eyes,” it said, released Arthur from the chains; the king tumbled to the ground.

“You returned,” the creature said as he looked at Arthur rouse from the ground, “No one has ever returned.”

“It seems no one has ever had the privilege of leaving either,” Arthur retorted.

“Neither will you,” creature said retorted back, “those whom enter reek of fear,” the creature studied the king closely, “In you, I sense hope,” it said momentarily then asked curiously, “What kind of man crawls into his own grave in search of hope, hmm?”

“A desperate one,” Arthur answered desperately, “The Saxons threatens to destroy my kingdom. With powers like yours, I could stop them, save my people, save my love.”

“How supremely noble, Lord Impaler,” the creature mocked, “Arthur Pendragon. Son of the Devil.”

“You’re mistaken. It means Son of the Dragon,” Arthur corrected.

“Do your people know how many innocents have you killed?” it asked, “Was it hundreds?”

“Yes.”

Arthur’s breath was knocked out of him as his back hit a hard wall, he had not seen the creature moved, it was too fast…

“Lie to me again and I will open your body from your belly to your brain and feed you your intestines,” it warned nails sharp and long and fangs jutted.

“Thousands,” Arthur replied.

“And when you put them on the stake, what did you feel? Shame? Horror? Power? Answer me!”

“Nothing,” Arthur shouted, “I felt nothing!”

“A greater crime than the act itself,” the creature narrowed its eyes at Arthur, “Then why spill blood if not for the pleasure of it?”

“Because men do not fear swords, they fear monsters. They run from them,” the creature released his hold on the king, then stepped back as Arthur continued, “By putting one village to the stake, I spared ten more. Sometimes the world no longer needs a hero. Sometimes what it need is a monster.”

“And you think you know what it is to be monster?” the creature said, “But I am going to show you.”

The creature picked a skull and smashed it to create a grotesque sort of cup. A sharp nail sliced at his wrist, rich, dark crimson filled the skull, “For centuries, these moldering walls have been my gallows, for I am bound to this cave, condemned by one who turned me. And I have waited an eternity for a man of your strength, your gifts, your will,” the creature held the skull and offered it to Arthur, “A man worthy of the dark and all its powers. For if I am your salvation, you are mine. Drink.”

Arthur accepted the skull, crimson liquid radiated power as it danced and seduced him.

“You will have a taste of my power. The strength of one hundred men. The speed of a falling star. Dominion over the night and all its creatures, to see and to hear through their senses. Even grievous wounds.”

“At what price?” Arthur asked.

“Once you drink, your thirst for human blood will be insatiable,” the creature answered, “but if you can resist for three days, you will return to your mortal state having sampled my power, and perhaps saved your people.”

“And if I feed?”

“The price would be worse than if you’d never stepped in here. For I will be set free having granted the darkness a worthy offering; you will become its vessel as I am. A scourge on this earth destined to destroy everything you hold dear. Your lands…your people…even your precious love,” the creature cautioned.

“I would die before I harm him,” Arthur said vehemently.

“Indeed you will, I’m afraid,” was truthful answer, “I, however, will at last be free to unleash my wrath against the one who betrayed me. And one day, I will call on you to serve me, my pawn, in an immortal game of revenge.”

“This is not a game!”

“Ah, but what better way to endure eternity? For this, King, is the ultimate game. Light versus dark. Hope versus despair. And the entire world’s fate hangs in a balance.”

“Then it will be my great pleasure to disappoint you,” Arthur vowed.

“Drink.”

Arthur drank the blood from the skull…

“What?” Arthur gasped, his vision darkening as he felt his life leaving his body, “How?”

“Now, you die.”

  
####

_Arthur’s back rested on his pillow as he looked into Merlin’s face, cheeks flushed like they always do after love making._

_It was unusually quiet in the castle. No sound disturbed their reverie. No past behind them. No future waiting. Only now…here…together…_

_Sunlight from an open window hit Arthur’s face. Merlin held up a hand to shade him. Arthur weaved his fingers into his. Backlit by the sun, their hands blushed red at the edges. The light grew brighter. The blood beneath the skin grew hotter…_

_Hotter…_

_A wisp of smoke rose from Arthur’s fingers._

Arthur gasped, sound muffled, his body was lying face down in the stream, caught between rocks. He rolled over…his eyes red and  _inhuman._

He rolled over again and gripped at a rock to steady him as he rose from the water but the rock crumbled under his palm. He looked at his hand, astounded…

__Strength of one hundred men…_ _

He smelt something burning; his silver ring, his insignia, burned at his fingers. His newly grown fangs bore as he clawed the ring off and dropped it in the water.

He was disoriented…and thirsty. He drank from the stream but spat it back as if it were poison. Arthur caught his reflection and recoiled at what he saw: a monster stared back. He touched his fang, unbelieving.

He focused his thoughts; the world looked different…sharper. His sensitive hearing caught it first before his sharpened eyesight; a heart throbbed as its pumped blood to its entire being, a deer in the nearby trees.

__Dominion over night and its entire creature…see and hear through their senses…_ _

Arthur then remembered what he had done and why. He retrieved his ring by the stream bed, hung it in his neck by a leather cord, his tunic provided some protection from its painfully hot touch.

Arthur stood at the edge of the trees, the sky above him paling, the sun would rise soon but the forest was dark enough, it would provide shelter. He focused his thought, called upon his newly acquired power and flown past the trees in a legion of black bats…

  
####

  
Catapulted boulder shook the castle as it smashed its walls…

Gwaine and Percival picked their way through air choked with dust, checking the occupants…

The citadel was under siege; the hall was a scene of panic and despair.

Villagers have taken refuge, along with what was left of Camelot’s guards, some servants as well, mostly women and children. Nobility and peasants cowered as equals in a union of fear.

Merlin and Gwen helped Gaius took care of the wounded; the Great Hall was transformed into a makeshift hospital.

They heard another boulder hit. The walls shook once more. The castle gate could not withstand great force much more…

“We’ll all die now!” spat a noble, pointing a finger at Merlin, “For him!”

“Show respect or I’ll strung you by your tongue,” Gwaine defended, hand at the pommel of his sword. Beside him, Percival mediated between noble and knight.

“And the King respects for us? He started this war. Where is he?”

Merlin felt all eyes upon him…he had no answer.

  
####

 

Arthur watched, hidden in shadows. His red eyes alight with fury. He ventured a fingertip into a diminishing daylight…it burned.

  
####

 

It was nightfall…the Saxons had surrounded the citadel; it would only be a matter of time before the great castle gate gave out its resistance.

In the Hall, impending death weighted on everyone. Some prayed…some wept…some were angry…

Merlin wetted a wounded man’s lips with wine. The man gazed adoringly at him, “I hope you like it,” Merlin said, smiling softly, “It’s from the King’s private collection.”

The door of the Great Hall opened, everyone was hushed. Was it Saxons? Had the gate finally broken?

Merlin did not know what was happening…

It was Arthur…

People pressed towards their King as if he alone could deliver them from evil…he walked through the crowd…Arthur anxiously sought out his husband.

“You’re back!” Merlin cried, throwing himself into Arthur’s arms.

“I always will.”

“Where were you?”

“Searching for the strength I need,” Arthur answered as he hugged Merlin and did not let go.

Arthur met everyone’s expectant eyes; everyone was silent as despair hung heavily around them.

“They wanted our sons!”

“We can’t fight!”

With Merlin still in his arms, Arthur climbed a few steps of the castle stairs, “A good king would have given them up. A good prince would have paid the price for peace,” Arthur said, watching everyone, “But I give you my word, we will not be defeated!” Arthur felt his people’s emotions rising, “They’ve brought war upon our land. And they will pay dearly for it.”

People cheered.

  
_####_

  
The battered gate of the castle opened, chains squealed and the oak raised as if bidding its farewell…Arthur stepped out to the grounds…Saxon army surrounded the castle gate.

“Charge!” was the battle cry.

Arthur charged at the attacking foes; his visage transformed into a legion of bats, the wings swallowing the light of the moon, casting terrible shadow over the whole land. The King as united creatures hit at the Saxon line, shattered their nerves and their line broke.

Furiously powering through his enemies, all fell beneath his claws and fangs; the unquenchable desire to slay every single man who had dared fought under the Saxon’s banner spurred him into killing spree. It was not a battle anymore…it was massacre.

It was pre-dawn when his madness stopped, mangled bodies of Saxon warriors laid scattered on the ground, there was not a single soldier spared.

Leon followed by Lancelot and Gwaine, stood frozen at the castle gates as they gaped, astounded at the horrible sight, it was so grotesque it escaped human imagination.

“Negotiations failed,” Arthur informed as he walked past the knights.

“What?” Leon dared ask, “Wait.”

Arthur stopped walking and looked back, “Do not ask me what happened on this field tonight. Trust only that I will use all I have to keep us safe. But we will not be safe if we stay here. We must leave directly to my mother’s castle in Cozia. It’s high in the mountains, too remote for catapults. It is our best chance of survival.” Arthur said, cost of the evening’s event evident on his face, “We’ll take enough of our people so that our absence is noticed. That way, when Icil learns what happened here, he’d come hunting for us.”

  
_####_

 

The tent of the Saxon king flapped open as Oswald walked pat them, “Word from Camelot. Arthur has defeated one thousands of our men,” he reported.

Icil straightened in his seat, face grim, “Then send one hundred thousands, I will lead them. And when I march to Northumbria I will have his head upon my spear and his consort at my side.”

  
_####_

  
Arthur, Leon and Gwaine stood on a precipice, a cliff high on Trigoviste, “We can fight the way our grandfathers fought; use the forest and mountains, to strike and hide around Borgo Pass” Leon said as the eagle’s eye view of Camelot stretched below them; the torches of Icil’s men, just pinpoints in the night as they marched towards them…for now.

“Five or six months of that we will win this war,” Gwaine added.

“I’m going to win this war in three days,” Arthur proclaimed.

“Why not two?’ Gwaine chuckled, “That would really impress us.”

 

They made camp that night at Borgo Pass, Icil’s army two days march behind them. The thickets of the forest hid them from their enemies, it offered a provisional sanctuary.

Arthur entered their tent, Merlin laid on the blankets; exhaustion, fear and many other emotions played on his face. He reached his side in few quick strides and held his face longingly, thumb brushing the cheekbone.

Arthur pressed his lips into Merlin’s in a kiss full of longing and want; it was accepted and reciprocated lovingly.

People could be heard milling about the campsite through the tent’s canvas wall…

Arthur trailed kisses down Merlin’s jaw to his neck as his hands roamed the pliant body. Merlin clung to him, his own hands wandering.

“I’ll be quiet,” Arthur teased, “Can you?”

Merlin bit his lips, preventing any sounds to escape him…then he heard it…Merlin’s heartbeat…growing louder.

He felt his gums itched as he tasted the skin around Merlin’s neck, the flow of blood through veins suddenly visible to his vision…fangs elongating.

__Feed._ _

Arthur abruptly stopped.

“What is it?” Merlin asked, confused.

Arthur got up and distanced himself from Merlin. He could still hear the hammering of his heart in his ears.

“I need some air,” he quickly excused, ignoring the hurt and disappointment in Merlin’s face as he exited their tent.

  
_####_

  
Arthur walked deep into the trees, away from his people, away from Merlin. He needed control. Merlin’s heartbeat was still ringing in his ears.

He glanced skyward…there were unnatural clouds that floated around Broken-Tooth, wild and dark, it mirrored Arthur’s thirst.

Wolves followed his steps as the bats flitted through the branches joining him.

Arthur stopped and focused his attention on a shadowed stand of a tree, “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you following me,” he said.

A man crept into the moonlight, hollowed cheeks and dirty clothes; a druid, it unsheathed a dagger, “I hear the whispers on the wind. The one who escaped the mountain hides behind the face of a man,” the man, Mordred, said back to Arthur.

“Then you should know a knife won’t do you any good.”

Mordred cut the palm of his own hand, made a fist and squeezed his blood into a rusty cup, "There is only so far on this earth I can run,” he offered the cup to Arthur, “And it’s not far enough.”

The temptation of the hot spilled blood made Arthur shiver, it seemed insane to him, repugnant.

“Let me serve you,” Mordred said, handing the cup to Arthur.

The smell of it alluring; his gums itched. Arthur slapped the cup from Mordred’s hand. He shook his head negatively for even letting his mind suggest such an offensive thing.

“Get away from me,” Arthur growled.

“Yes, master,” Mordred bowed low and scurried off into the night.

Arthur stood there shaken…shaken by the druid’s worship…shaken by everything.

  
_####_

  
Gray lighted before dawn when Arthur returned to the camp; everyone was fast asleep, quiet but for the tents whipping in the wind. Arthur gripped the silver ring in his chest, it burned to the bone; pain was the price to keep his thirst in check…it was getting harder. But for now, the silver served its purpose; Arthur’s thirst was calmed.

Arthur joined Percival, who was alert, perched on a rise. They both surveyed the vast sweep of the land: dawn had already reached Tirgoviste. So had Icil.

“He’s coming faster than you thought,” Percival said to Arthur.

Arthur’s troubled brows confirmed it, he turned to look at the flapping tents, “We can only let them rest a couple of hours, then we have to keep moving.”

Arthur could see the distant mountain peaks were already lit by rising sun; it had hurt his eyes…

Percival looked at his King and pinched his cheek in a friendly gesture, “You’ve lost your color. When was the last time you slept?” he asked.

Arthur let his troubled mind consumed him and he fell on a pitiful sleep. He was shivering; sleeping restlessly, lost in delirium, his silver ring burned hotly on his chest.

Merlin awoke at the sound and found Arthur huddled at the corner of their tent, back to him, which had surprised him a great deal: Arthur’s scars were gone, the skin was smooth. His husband was shivering, a wisp of smoke rose from the side of Arthur and the smell of burning flesh permeated the small space.

Merlin was at Arthur’s side instantly, alarmed to see his king looking ill. He touched his arm to wake him and was stunned, it felt cold. He rolled Arthur on his back and found the burned mark where the ring lied; he removed the ring from the king’s neck.

Arthur awoke with a start.

“You need help,” Merlin said, worried.

Merlin was speaking to him, but he couldn’t hear a word he was saying; his voice was drowned by the thundering heart. Arthur groped for the signet ring but it was gone.

Arthur looked at Merlin as if he was a stranger…

“Arthur?”

__A beat._ _

Arthur pulled Merlin to the ground, tore open his shirt at the collar. Merlin struggled…but Arthur was so consumed by his thirst of blood. He bared his fangs and lowered his jaw to Merlin’s throat…

“Merlin?” a voice from outside the tent, Gwen’s, “Are you awake?”

The sound had cut through the haze…it broke the spell…the madness…

Sanity flickered in Arthur’s eyes, “I’m sorry,” he whispered as he pulled away from Merlin.

Merlin curled into a tight ball, shielding himself from Arthur…scared.

Arthur was horrified by the thought that he could have killed him. He almost did.

Arthur drew his knife and slashed open the roof of the tent. Sunlight poured down on him. It burned him…but he did not move; he had let the sunlight ate at his flesh.

“Arthur,” Merlin gasped as the face of a monster was exposed, it was so bizarre, it defied human logic…but in his red eyes he could still recognized Arthur, his husband…and he was dying.

Merlin pushed Arthur away from the sunlight; threw a blanket on him to smother the fire. Arthur lied in a shaded corner, flesh charred and gritting his teeth in pain.

“What’s happening to you?” Merlin asked.

“I’m the thing men fear on Broken-Tooth. Not a ghost. Something else.”

“May the gods and goddesses strike down whoever did this to you,’ Merlin prayed, carefully touching the charred flesh of Arthur’s arm.

“I chose this,” Arthur said.

“This is the strength you sought?” Merlin asked dumbfounded, “But why?”

“Because I sent corpses back to Icil instead of you and the villager’s sons,” Arthur responded with labored breathing.

“You did this for us?” Merlin was aghast.

“In two days, I’ll be restored. I just have to resist,” Arthur said, trying to appease the guilt-stricken husband.

“Resist what?”

Arthur refused to answer…

“Resist what Arthur?” Merlin insisted, impatient, “Tell me!”

“A thirst for blood,” was the king’s reluctant answer, ashamed, “human blood.”

“And if you were to give in?” Merlin questioned, fearing the answer.

“Then I become this for eternity.”

“You will undo this, won’t you?” Merlin asked in a small voice.

“Yes. I swear it,” Arthur vowed, “I will not give in.”

  
_####_

  
Icil lead his army as they marched to drumbeats double-time; the covered juggernauts covered the grounds fast.

Icil and Oswald reached Camelot first, they shared an alarmed look. A terrorized Janissary closed to death was slumped against a mangled horse, breathing hoarsely. Scattered around him were the last remnants of his battalion…all impaled on stakes but him.

Oswald checked the body closely, a large gouge wound gaped open at the Janissary’s neck, “He asked for you,” Oswald said to Icil.

The Saxon king un-mounted his horse, leaned down on the fallen soldier as the man breathed the last strand of his life, delivering his message, “Message from King Arthur. He hopes you enjoy the view.”

“The men should not see this,” Icil said as he pulled his blade from the dead soldier, and then turned to Oswald, “They fled. There will be women and children, moving slowly.”

  
_####_

  
Outside the campsite tethered goats grazed the ground; Merlin approached a goat with resolve. He checked his surroundings to be sure the animal’s docile eyes were the only one that saw him.

Merlin had water skin in one hand…and a knife in the other…

 

Arthur poured the goat’s blood into his mouth from the water skin; he grimaced at the taste but sucked it down greedily.

Arthur’s injuries had healed…the incessant heartbeats quieted but not entirely silenced but it gave him some measure of relief.

Arthur felt Merlin watching him as he wiped the blood from his mouth. He was trying not to break down as the horrific reality sunk in.

Outside their tent, Leon called out.

“Icil is getting closer. We might want to move out soon,” Arthur said, avoiding Merlin’s eyes, “I need you to get to my mother’s castle as quickly as you can. Icil’s men will be close by.”

“No,” Merlin protested, trying to reach to him.

“Listen to me,” Arthur said, finally meeting Merlin’s gaze; fear mirrored on both reflection, “I will reach you after sundown. I promise. I love you,” he brushed his knuckles on Merlin’s cheek.

Merlin went outside their tent to meet Leon, “Dollop-head agrees with your counsel. We will depart under your command,” he said.

Leon almost smiled at that but schooled his face, “What?” he asked, bewildered, “And where is Arthur going to be?”

“Spying on Icil’s army,” Merlin lied, “He insists on doing his own reconnaissance.”

“No,” Leon objected as he tried to side step Merlin to get into the tent, “I won’t have it.”

“It’s too late,” Merlin blocked his way, “He’s already gone,” he said, daring the knight to defy him.

Leon sighed as he eyed Merlin, then unenthusiastically agreed, “All right, everyone,” he called out, “Prepare to move out.”

  
_####_

  
Arthur waited in the deserted camp; he was forced to stay, unable to leave with his people, with Merlin. Behind him, the tent’s opening was bright with deadly sunlight.

He heard it, somewhere from around the camp…heartbeats. He squinted up high the crest line and saw: Janissaries travelling fast, one carrying a basket of carrier pigeons on his back; they were single-minded predators, tracking Merlin and the band of Camelot.

Desperation gripped him as he frantically shouted to get their attention: “Down here! Come get me, you bastards!”

Up on the crest line, the Janissaries didn’t hear him, they ignored the abandoned campsite below them.

Merlin…he could not warn him, he could not cross the daylight, Arthur gritted his teeth, his gums aching as he willed the sun to hurry its descent.

  
_####_

  
It was sunset when the Janissaries reached the Borgo Pass valley; they crouched on a ridge, monitoring the unsuspecting band of refugees as they made heir way through the narrow valley.

“Tell the King where his enemies will be buried,” one Janissary ordered.

The bird keeper affixed a note for the Saxon king to one of the carrier pigeons then released it into the air…

At the abandoned campsite, Arthur paced, distraught…a prisoner waiting…then the sun finally set.

 

A chill fog hugged the forest; it was hard to see past the person in front. The group slogged through the valley, everyone cold and exhausted. Leon led alongside Lancelot and Gwaine. Percival and Elyan brought up the rear.

Gwen held onto Merlin’s hand, one foot plodding in front of the other, “I’m tired,” she whispered. Merlin looked at her in sympathy.

“Listen,” Merlin paused…they heard bell ringing, sounding an alarm.

The Cozia castle loomed above the mist; relief spread, their journey was almost over…

“These people better have a wine cellar,” Gwaine said.

“They’re priests and priestesses. They meditate. They don’t drink wine,” Leon informed, chuckling at Gwaine’s groan in disappointment.

Lancelot shushed the, warily scanning the valley walls…

The Janissaries had burst from the cliffs, shadowed in fog, the people rushed into the castle in pure panic. The Janissaries attacked the group like quicksilver; the outmatched castle guards and knights mounted a rear-guard action, hoping it would allow others to reach Cozia’s gates.

One Janissary with bright blue eyes glided through the mayhem, hunting a special target.

Merlin clutched a frightened Gwen. Lancelot and a few castle guards rushed to protect them.

“Let’s get you inside,’ Lancelot urged them hurriedly, the brawny castle guards formed a wall behind them.

The Janissary whirled into the castle guards like dervish, wielding two scimitars like silver flashes; the guards dropped no match for the warrior’s skills…

Lancelot bounded off the trail, through the maze of pines; Merlin and Gwen at each of his sides. They hit a steep incline, dropping into chasm: it was a dead end.

The Blue eyed Janissary stepped silently from the trees behind them.

“Nothing to worry about,” Lancelot turned to Merlin and Gwen, face grim.

The Janissary cleaned his scimitars with a flick of his wrist. He lunged with one blade—Lancelot blocked it—the soldier drove his second scimitar through Lancelot’s chest. The knight fell.

“Lancelot!” Gwen screamed, grieved.

Merlin looked at the Janissary’s blue eyes as the executioner advanced on them; blood-stained scimitars glinted in the night.

Merlin turned to his friend, “Run!” he said, Gwen shook her head, he pushed her forcefully, “Go!” he shouted. Merlin stayed behind to give her a chance.

The Janissary raised his scimitars for a clean stoke…

“Jannisary,” a growl.

Arthur vaulted at the soldier; fangs bared, irises glowing like red ingots: primal…animal…a demon.

The Janissary pivoted, swung his scimitars—Arthur slapped the swords away, the steel broke. The soldier’s hands were shattered, mangled fingers twisted like roots.

Arthur flung the Janissary backwards, down an incline. The soldier skidded, grasping vainly for a handhold and then fell off the edge of the cliff.

Lancelot laid at the roots of a tall pine, barely alive, he watched in incoherent fear as the red-eyed thing wearing the King’s face, his friend, whirled on Merlin…and just like that, Arthur looked like himself again, but the veil had been dropped, the truth revealed.

“You came,” Merlin whispered numbly.

Arthur rushed to Lancelot’s side to aid him…but the knight clawed at the ground, trying to get away from this demon.

“You are not Arthur,” Lancelot rasped.

“It’s me, Lancelot,” Arthur said.

“God help me,” Lancelot gasped.

Lancelot died, eyes frozen wide in terror. Merlin said a silent prayer, not just for his friend, but for them all.

 

Most of the people of Camelot made it inside Cozia…but not all.

Castle guards shielded a few female servants and children—death was certain as Janissaries emerged from the fog around them.

One Janissary was yanked backwards, swallowed in the murk; his shouts were ended by the crack of his neck. The Janissaries rushed to confront their unseen attacker—the people of Camelot watched them fade from view, heard the desperate whispers of scimitars cutting into nothing but air…cried of surprise…then fear…then pain…then nothing.

Something was flung from the fog—the basket of pigeons—the Janissary bird keeper was gone but the frenzied birds were splattered with his blood. With the basket upended, the birds flown free.

Two red eyes pierced the gloom, searching for anything to kill…

The women and children huddled behind terrified men, with an unsympathetic glower, the red eyes withdrew.

 

Back in the incline, a stout surviving Janissary was hidden, huddled in fear…behind him a shadow loomed—the Janissary with bright blue eyes stood, alive; he put one good finger to his lips… _shhh_ …

  
_####_

  
Inside Cozia, a few of Arthur’s people who had died during the attack had been laid in repose; the priests led the traumatized survivors in prayer.

It was what greeted Arthur when he entered the gates—Alator, the high priest greeted him.

Arthur strode pas him, interrupting the grieving mass, as he pulled them up one by one from their knees, “Get off your knees. Prayers won’t defend these walls!” Arthur ordered.

The priests were taken aback…

“Icil’s men will be coming from the north. Double our sentries on the perimeter walls,” when no one moved, “Go! Do it now!” the King snapped, passing orders sharply as he walked briskly to the smithy.

“What’s in there?” Merlin asked, pointing at a sealed iron door at the smithy.

“Something I hope to never use again,” Arthur answered.

It was pre-dawn at the Cozia’s ground, Arthur gathered all his able-bodied men—well, what was left of his castle guards, knights, a few servants and some stalwart monks; they were his warriors, forty in all.

Arthur tested the heft of a fresh-cut sharpened wooden pole, “I want more like this. Buried at high angles ten paces behind the trenches,” he said, pointing, “Dug there. And there. Across the narrowest part of the pass.”

Leon nodded, Arthur slapped him on the back, “Their chests are armored but their necks are soft.”

Across all the activity, Arthur saw Merlin and Gwen as they picked up herbs and wild berries and feasted on them, he lingered on the incongruously peaceful scene…Merlin saw him watching and waved, smiling—Arthur waived back—he felt as far from his husband as if he was on a ship leaving ashore…

Arthur turned his attention to the sky; the sun had already casted on one side of the valley in gold: he had remained outside as long as he could afford—it was time to head indoors.

In his way indoors, he passed a grave bore Lancelot’s name, sprinkled with fresh cut flowers…

“Your friend is in my prayers,” Alator said sincerely.

“You would have liked him. A brave and noble man,” Arthur praised, and then walked towards the castle.

Where Arthur was standing—Alator noticed—the wildflowers were now suddenly purtrid…dread sunk low in the High Priest’s heart at the hideous discover.

  
_####_

  
“The men say that Arthur has become a monster,” Oswald said as they looked at the blood-splattered pigeon still in its cage, “I fear this will only inflame the rumor of the king’s dark magic.”

“Only if we allow it,” Icil answered, hands pressed as he leaned on the tactic table, “Men cannot fear what they cannot see.”

Saxons and Janissaries were near the Borgo Pass as they marched to drumbeats. Icil gazed ahead with anticipation. Oswald grew fearful as they drew closer to their foe.

Icil signaled the drums stopped: armies halted.

“You did not believe when my Generals blindfolded you, you did not believe you could march without seeing…but you could, “ Icil said to his men.

The soldiers were rapt; hang on to their King’s words…

Icil moved through the ranks, his golden armor shining, “Now, march with me!” he encouraged, “Your King will guide you!”

  
_####_

  
Arthur was almost at the castle door when a ray of sun flared from a notch in the cliffs and flooded the door with sunlight. He stopped at the threshold—he could not pass through without burning. He caught the High Priest staring at him, he tried to remain calm as the line of sunlight encroached by the second; he nodded and smiled at the priest and headed to the smithy.

It was still in shade; a separate hut on the castle grounds. Inside, blacksmiths priests repaired arms and armors. Three of the smithy’s walls were open to the air, screened with canvas but it would have to do—Arthur ducked inside just before daylight flooded the valley.

The blacksmith monks looked up curiously; Arthur knew he was trapped in there, but played it nonchalant as he examined weapons laid out to cool. He looked up from a sword to see Alator judging him from the doorway.

“My King, it is said that the vampire is vulnerable to daylight…and to pure silver,” the priest said, in his hand, a sword made with pure silver; it glinted in the day as light bounced from its shiny surface, “yet the protection of this place exerts no power over, that can only mean you have yet to seal your fate with human blood.”

“What?” Arthur replied, pretending to be surprised by the accusation.

The blacksmiths around them looked uncomfortable as they shift their gaze from their High Priest to their King…

“Let me save you, my King. Let me kill you now, before your people do,” Alator pleaded, sword drawn in front of him; his hands shook as he pointed the blade at Arthur, ‘Rumors have spread of what you have become. You can still repent.”

Arthur dropped the act and squared his shoulders, “You would do well to run, Alator,” he warned.

Alator gathered himself, “May the gods and goddesses have mercy on you,” he said as he tore down one of the canvas walls.

Sunlight surged into the smithy—caught Arthur full in the face, he erupted into flame. The frightened blacksmiths fled in fright as the king’s monstrous face was revealed for all to see—Arthur collapsed in a shadowed corner, in agony; his flesh charred—through a haze of pain, he peered outside…

“It’s true!”

“He’s a monster!”

A half-dozen castle guards had cordoned off the smithy, murmuring silent prayers in mortal fear…the monks tried to minister calm, but they were just as afraid as the others.

“Arthur!” Merlin’s voice from somewhere…

More people rushed into the scene, carrying torches, led by a nobleman, Simon, from the House of Umbria.

Arthur saw Merlin vainly trying to push past the guards to get to him, “No!” Merlin argued emotionally at the passing crowd, “He is your King. He has earned a chance to explain himself!”

Simon practically dripped with self-righteous piety, “We all succumb to his witchcraft. I forgive you for that,” told Merlin.

The heartbeats outside were cacophonies…

A rat scurried into the smithy and stopped in front of Arthur—the king snatched the rat and bitten it. At the small infusion of blood, his burns began to heal…more rats trickled in to rejuvenate their master.

Now healed, Arthur watched as three members of the castle guard, led by the traitor nobleman, approached the smithy…armed with torches. The King searches the face of men once loyal to him and him to them, but all he found were the unforgiving stares of his murderers.

“Arthur!” Merlin cried, held by two castle guards.

Arthur saw his remaining knights rushed into Merlin, followed by Gaius and the still grieving Gwen—his friends—so few of them left. They argued and reasoned to the stricken crowd.

There was a pinch of jealousy when Merlin was enveloped in Gwaine’s arms, the others forming a wall to protect them and each other.

“No!” Merlin screamed as he tried to dislodge Gwaine’s hold.

Torches were thrown and settled fire to the smithy, flames ate at the roof and walls; letting in the sun’s deadly rays…

Arthur cried out as light raked his skin…his time was almost out—he noted the pile of drained rats and focused his mind…

The sun had set but Merlin had not moved from his spot on the castle ground, he stared at the pillar of smoke that was the smithy…grief had not come yet.

“We need to finish the defenses, ‘Merlin said to Leon.

“You knew,” Leon said with gentle voice, not an ounce of judgment or hatred in his eyes.

“I loved him,’ Merlin whispered.

Simon strode up to them, wearing a face of deepest condolences, “How are you faring?” he asked Merlin.

“I don’t know…” was the reply.

“Well, you are now our sovereign,” he said, “You would do to us what Arthur never could,” Simon signaled for his accomplices to take Merlin, “I pray the Saxon king still wants you.”

Furious, Leon pulled Merlin tight to his side, “You wouldn’t dare,” he growled, drawing his sword.

A castle guard approached, grim-faced, “There is no body,” he reported.

Simon’s stomach twisted in knots…Leon looked down on Merlin—they knew what was coming.

A frightened hush descended on everyone…the crowd parted.

Arthur walked through his people’s midst with a sharpened pole from the defenses; his hatred so rabid that reason was impossible. Merlin sucked in his breath when he saw Arthur and realized there was nothing he could do.

Simon’s throat tightened as he looked at the pole…then back to Arthur—the King drove the pole at Simon’s gut. Merlin averted his eyes at the sound of Simon’s screams, a tear ran down his cheek; a piece of him was dying too.

“This is your loyalty? Your gratitude?” Arthur barked, eyes glowing red with fury,” Fools. Do you think you are alive because you can fight? You are alive because of me! Because of what I did to save you!”

A grisly shadow was casted on the ground at Merlin’s feet…the shadow of Simon's skewered body lifted into the air…and was planted upright.

Arthur fixed furious eyes on the men who had joined the betrayal…

“Impale the rest of the traitors. You see how it was done. Avoid the heart,” Arthur turned to Leon.

Under their King’s gaze, Leon and the rest of the knights restrained the noble’s accomplices; the order was terrible, but what choice did they have?

“When we had brought you home from Mercia, I thought I still saw the goodness in you. Despite for everything you had done,” Gaius voice rose from the crowd as he dared to spoke to the king, “but you’re still one of them.”

“There’s a reason the Saxons is the one taking over the world,” Arthur replied curtly.

Everyone watched in horror as the guards picked up sharpened poles with shaking hands. The traitors begged for mercy as the sharp tips aimed at their chest. Arthur’s fury showed no sign of dimming…until he saw Merlin’s eyes bore into him, his palm warm at his chest, “This is not who you are,” Merlin spoke. This is not the man I love.

Revulsion played across Arthur’s face as moment of clarity hit; he noticed for the first time the weeping women and children…his own people were terrified of him.

“That’s enough!” Arthur halted the guards before the deed could be done. Spared from execution, the traitors collapsed on the ground…weeping.

“Return to your stations!” Arthur commanded, his manner brusque, allowing no emotion to show, “Believe me, there is still more to fear!”

 

Arthur held Merlin tight as they stood on the highest part of the castle…the watch tower.

Far in the distance, Icil’s army marched for the valley, their steps fell in tune with the drumbeats; they would arrive by dawn.

“They’re almost here,” Arthur said, arms tightening even more, “Dawn will be breaking soon. And with it, the loss of my powers. If we have not won this war by then…”

“I will fight beside you until death,” Merlin declared.

“Your death would end my fight,” Arthur countered.

“We have done the duty of any good leader, protected our land…protected the children of the kingdom,” Merlin said as he looked into Arthur’s eyes.

“Perhaps our destiny was not to rule in this life,” the King said as he put a chaste kiss on Merlin’s forehead.

“Do you remember our wedding vow?” merlin asked, then continued, “Why think separately of this life and the next…”

“When one is born from the last?” Arthur finished.

“Time is always too short for those who need it,” Merlin kissed the palm of the hand on his cheek, “But for those who love, it lasts forever.”

  
_####_

  
The night sky was lightening in the east…

On the castle walls, the Camelot warriors could not see doom was approaching, but they could hear it—Saxon drums echo through the Pass..

Arthur looked up at the sky—first one bat, then another…flew past the castle walls as they took refuge in the shadows of the Watch Tower…

Arthur climbed to the tower overlooking the valley; canopy of writhing bats covered the ceiling…he gestured to the creatures and focused his mind…

Across the sky, dawn ticked ever closer as the Icil’s army entered the Pass..

Hiding, the Janissary with bright blue eyes and two other could hear their army’s drums—as they scanned the castle’s defenses…

 

Icil marched within his blindfolded army, Oswald weaved through the ranks to report, a stout Janissary at his side but the King didn’t respond; his eyes were drawn upward…

Merlin, with Elyan and Gwaine stood at the middle of the private chambers of Arthur’s late mother; their gazed fixed outside the open-wide window—flapping of endless black wings vibrated throughout the castle as their leathery wings casted shadow over the land.

Arthur extended his hand, it appeared as if he casted a giant shadow across Icil’s army advancing up the Pass below…a colossal black hand…alive and writhing; the impossible number of bats in the shape of Arthur’s hand, an extension of his will. ‘Fingers’ were extended like claws and the hand of bats slammed down on the Saxons, breaking into a swarm of little beasts…

Tiny fangs bit exposed skin, drawing blood…

The ranks broke…the march stopped.

From this height the Saxon King’s golden armor was a mere speck to be brushed away…

A black bat with the wide wingspan of a hawk flown and dived—zeroed in on its target—the Saxon King’s helmet looked up too late—the black bat was upon him; transforming into Arthur…

“Your war ends now,” Arthur snarled.

Arthur tore of the king’s helmet—but this was not Icil—it was his adjutant; a decoy wearing a golden armor.

The Janissaries sneaked into the castle and broke into the private chambers…Elyan was the first to fell, Gwaine blocked oncoming attacks as he tried to make way for Merlin’s escape, seeing an opening he slashed his sword on unprotected arm, “Go! Run! Find Arthur!” Gwaine panted, blocking the doorway with his body.

Merlin ran to the Watch Tower—only it was empty of Arthur. He held the sword; he had picked on his way, in front of him…

Merlin felt pure terror as the Janissary with bright blues eyes appeared from below the stairs; scimitars dripping with blood—Gwaine—a proud, sick feeling passed him briefly as he realized his friend had taken the two Janissaries with him in his demise—he choked but held his ground, he had learned a thing or two of sword fighting from Arthur.

“My Lord…” Blue eyes said, grinning like maniac.

Merlin backed away from the Janissary, eyes never leaving the intruder. He halted immediately when a gush of wind brushed at him; there were no more steps to take for he was nearly on the edge…

Blue eyes stalked slowly, taunting him and when he got close enough Merlin swung his sword—his attacked was blocked and his sword was knocked from his hands. He gasped, stared wide-eyed at the Janissary as hard punch hit his gut, he fell to his knees—there was no floor—he hang on the edge…

“Arthur!” Merlin cried.

Arthur scanned the Saxon army; their King could be any one of them…a needle in a hay stack…

“Coward. Show your face,” his growl fainting as the sky lightened.

Then Arthur saw Icil—the King was in the middle of the ranks, dressed as a common soldier, staring at him with a victorious glint in his eyes.

Arthur froze; he sensed peril…then heard it.

Merlin’s gripped was loosening; feet dangle in the air as he held on a loose stone tile for dear life…

Arthur saw Merlin hang from the Tower as he transformed into a black mass of bats…almost there…the sun had risen; ignited Arthur like a shooting star as he crushed on the tower floor—in a form of a man, his body haloed in fire. With remaining strength Arthur ripped the lone Janissary into shreds and thrown the body down the rocky bottom.

“Hold on,” Arthur gasped in pain as he crawled towards Merlin.

A black bat appeared in front of him; wings batted steadily as it offered its tiny body to its dark master.

Arthur bit on it—too late—the stone tile had finally loosen and Merlin fell into the abyss.

“Arthur!”

Merlin shut his eyes against his tears…

“No!”

Arthur dove; his hands were extended as he desperately tried to reach Merlin—the sun rays glowed with white light. Arthur’s body began to grow red, he was burning…

They stared at each other, Merlin’s eyes were filled with tears as hid body hit the rocks; the unforgiving surface damaged his skull…blood pooled beneath him.

Arthur plummeted after—the rocky bottom of the castle was still casted in shadow.

“No!” Arthur cried as he cradled Merlin’s body, shaking charred hands tapped at the growing cold cheek, “No, Merlin. Please, stay with me. I cannot do this without you,” he pleaded.

“Dollop-head,” Merlin called, voice weakened as he tried to open his eyes, “I packed your favorite breakfast…p-pickled e-eggs.”

“Sshh..save your strength,” Arthur said, red eyes brimmed with tears.

“There is still time for you to stop them,” Merlin touched his fingers to Arthur’s charred cheek, he said, “Drink my blood.”

“No!” Arthur answered abruptly with vehemence, “I cannot take your life.”

“My life is lost already,” Merlin reasoned, getting weaker as moments passed, “But the people of Camelot are not.”

“No,” Arthur tightened his hold, “I love you.”

“I love you and I want to be with you…part of your victory,” Merlin replied resolutely, “Do it now, Arthur.”

Arthur shook his head, shoulders vibrating with unguarded emotions; his red eyes flowing with tears.

“Do it now!”

Despair and sorrow gripped at his already dead heart; created a black hole in his stained soul as phantom demons inhabited him, dipped down into the recesses of his mind as his last beacon of hope was shrouded in shadows, like all their dreams were lost in the night.

Arthur sank his fangs into Merlin’s neck, tears an endless stream down his face; he drank until there was none left as his lover’s body shuddered no more…

Arthur felt himself coursing with power—the sky above him darkened, stained from horizon to horizon by storm clouds; heaven grieved with his heart as day had become night…

“Merlin!” Arthur screamed in anguish.

But Merlin was forever out of his reach.

  
_####_

  
Cozia Castle had been attacked in the absence of their King; Saxons left after their hunger for carnage was abated—women, children, guards, monks—lifeless bodies littered the ground; it was this atrocious sight that greeted Arthur when he entered through the gates.

Leon was slumped against a wall, a large gash on his forehead where a Saxon soldier had clubbed him, sight dimming but he would know Arthur from anywhere, “Do you want revenge?” was his King offered.

At Leon’s nod of ascent, Arthur bit into his wrist and pressed it to the knight’s lips, “Drink,” he commanded.

Arthur looked around the ground…most of his people were dead, but some, grievously wounded; still alive…

  
_####_

  
Merlin’s body was laid on a stone slab, decorated by flowers and herbs; dark curls swayed as the wind brushed his lifeless body…

“I know hell exists, so I know there’s a heaven. Neither this world nor the next shall keep us apart. I will honor your sacrifice and I vow that our people shall be safe,” Arthur whispered.

Behind him, his brood of vampires stood—two dozen in all—they were his people, near death but now they would never die; their eyes red and hungry as they looked at their King.

Arthur turned to them…they bowed.

  
_####_

  
The war tents of Icil’s army encampment on Meredor plains spiked the sky; a stronghold of canvas and silk, the King’s tent was pitched on a rise.

Icil stood with Oswald, overlooking his new possession: Camelot.

Oswald stared at the horizon, confused, “Look to the east…the sun…it does not rise.”

Where the sunrise should be…a storm was gathering…

Far in the distance, a figure in full battle armor approached the encampment with intent, the dragon insignia decorated the breastplate, as claps of thunder echoed with petrifying sound accompanied of lighting scarring the sky…

“It’s Arthur,’ Icil said, “He is coming.”

 

A tent on the perimeter shook violently then it collapsed, deflated. Sounds of mayhem reverberated across the camp as tents fell like dominoes—something was tearing a path into the heart of the camp.

The screams of Saxon soldiers ripped from all sides along the snap of splintering poles and tearing of clothes…

Oswald gaze was drawn overhead, to the flapping of wings; Saxon bowmen careened back—swarm of bats had poured over the tents, soldiers had shielded their faces from the flying scourges—Arthur emanated from the dark.

The bats transmuted from a thick black fog into Arthur’s vampire brood: glowing red eyes and insatiably hungry.

The Saxons hacked wildly at opponents too fast to touch; the rare soldier who had scored a lucky hit found his blade had no effect.

Most vampires wielded weapons they did in life; slicing and chopping to harvest the blood they crave…others were alight on screaming Saxons to bore them down under claw and fang.

The army that toppled great kingdoms had retreated in chaos like children…but there was nowhere to go: vampires were everywhere, devouring everyone.

Oswald had fled to his tent, had hoped desperately that walls of canvas would provide protection from the monstrosity outside.

“I used to think there were too many of you. Now there’s not enough,” Gaius had seized the soldier, sank his fangs in his throat.

A Janissary stood like a rock in a river parted the fleeing Saxons around him, waiting for the Vampire King…

The soldier attacked Arthur with quick feint and slice—Arthur caught the blade, twisted it out of the Janissary’s hand, “I do not fear death,” soldier sneered.

“Everybody does,” Arthur said, pinning the Janissary into a tent post with his own scimitar, “I did.”

The Janissary squirmed as he tried to escape but to no avail; he had screamed as Gwen and two others tore into him. In the end, he was scared.

Arthur continued his hunt on the Saxon King, he had found him in the stables; full armor and was waiting for him.

Icil sliced open sack after sack of silver coins from the wagons laden with treasure from Camelot castle; hundreds of silver coins spilled across the floor in a glittering carpet, “I do not tax you enough,’ Icil said, condescendingly.

Arthur hovered angrily as he felt the silver’s heat, Icil flicked a coin at him—Arthur caught it, letting the silver scalded his palm as he stared the Saxon King down. How did Icil know?

Inside the stable felt like stepping into an oven, Arthur weathered down the pain but felt his strength zap.

Icil circled like a tiger, slicing his sword in the air, “Which one of us used to win these?” The Saxon King asked, “I don’t remember.”

“Yes you do,” Arthur retorted plainly.

The two king thrusted their sword simultaneously, icil’s a hair’s breadth from Arthur’s neck, “Close. Just like old times…”

Arthur and Icil collided in a clung of steel; every trick they could remember, every dirty move they could dream up…their combat reflected in silver around them. But the longer Arthur stayed in there, the weaker he became. Arthur had dodged a slice of sword—but Icil aimed at the sack of coins—a crusade of silver dumped on the Camelot King—his body seared.

“How long can you bear it here?” Icil taunted.

“Long enough to tear you out of history books,” Arthur hissed.

Arthur counter-attacked with devastating chain of sword attacks, the onslaught forced Icil back—sword was knocked out of his hand.

“I can still beat you like a man,” Arthur declared.

“You are not man anymore,” Icil answered.

Arthur’s sword felt too heavy, he could no longer lift it—he fell, smoldered on a bed of silver.

Icil picked up a wooden lance and snapped it over his knee, “I am told a stake through your heart will kill just as well,” Icil smirked, “Much cheaper.”

Arthur pulled himself to his feet as the Saxon King thrusted the broken lance; he had grabbed, barely keeping the tip from his heart…

“You fight too hard for your whore. You are not your father’s son,” Icil said as he put his weight on the lance, he and Arthur; eye to eye, “He was toothless and wholly lacking in majesty…yet thought of himself as a Dragon,” pressed forward, “When you were born they called you ‘Son of the Dragon’. And yet I have never heard you used that name. Why should you?” laughed, “To be known as a son of a coward.”

Arthur strength wavered; sharp wood touched his heart…with a final burst of strength, Arthur pushed the lance aside and pulled Icil into him—he sunk his fangs into the Saxon King’s neck, he drunk as the other King vainly struggled…Arthur’s flesh healed.

Arthur hurled the still-living King aside, “It also means ‘Son of the Devil’,” Arthur said.

Pitiless red eyes rose before the Saxon King in the dark; they could swallow him whole—there was no escape…

Arthur picked up the broken lance and jammed it through Icil’s chest…the Saxon King had died gurgling.

Red eyes scanned the stables as Arthur sensed he was not alone.

“You told him how to kill me?” Arthur growled.

“You would be the end of all of us,” Alator said, brandishing a sword made of pure silver—Arthur shrunk back, the High Priest was amazed and raised the sword, appealed, “You can still repent, my King. Let me save you.”

Alator followed Arthur outside the stable; the sky was black as night: the last Saxon fought in vain. Arthur’s brood of vampires moved like a plague of locusts—leaving nothing living behind.

The High Priest tried to ignore the black tableau spread before him as howls of death filled his ears—there was no reprieve coming…

Leon approached, “You dog,” Arthur greeted as he and the knight grasped forearms in victory, “You’re cold,” he noticed.

“It must be the blood that makes them warm,” Leon answered.

Arthur looked across the ravaged Saxon camp, “How many are left?” he inquired.

“The only living here is him,” Leon answered, tipping his chin at the direction of Alator behind his King.

Vampires had accumulated around Arthur like vultures, “What about the others? The boys?” he asked, alarmed, he had passed some hostages and young boys in his quest for Icil, held at a secured tent.

“What boys?” Leon questioned back.

In a secured tent—the Camelot boys and other hostages lied dead.

Arthur felt a rush of horror as he looked around him—vampire mouths were fresh with blood; blood of their enemies…blood of their sons…  
“Stop this,” Arthur ordered.

“What have you been taught?” Leon sneered, “What have been repeated over and over since you were a boy?”

More vampires drew closer…all drawn at the priest at Arthur’s back.

“All that matter is a King’s duty to his people,” Leon continued, riveted his red eyes on the High Priest, “Don’t you realize? They’re all our enemies now.”

An eager vampire lunged at the priest but Arthur was quicker; grabbed a broken spear and jammed it into the vampire, “Know your place,” Arthur warned.

Arthur snapped off the metal point in the former servant…former friend’s chest then drove the broken wood at the chest again but this time into the heart…thrusted the spear upward and planted it on the ground.

Gwen crumpled into final death, twisting like a marionette with strings pulled in all direction as her body turned to ash.

“Stay away from him,” Arthur warned.

“When he’s gone you’ll be free,” Leon said.

The former knight pounced—Arthur thrusted the broken at Leon—the vampire splintered it with his fist, then grabbed Arthur by the throat…

Alator sliced his silver sword at the knight’s arm—Leon let go of Arthur, hissing with pain and anger—the sword had done damaged but it was not enough to abate his hunger for blood—he lunged again.

Arthur and his former knight wrestled in a colossal struggle, “Love will lead you to ruin,” Leon growled.

Locked in combat, Arthur’s eyes met Leon’s, “You forget who I am,” Arthur said then plunged a broken tent pole through Leon’s heart and hoisted him up…Leon’s scream ended abruptly as his body contorted in the rictus of absolute death.

A mass of vampires converged on the priest; Arthur fought them all with broken spears but realized he couldn’t stop them all…he realized, at last, his path was still his to choose…

“It’s over, Merlin,” Arthur whispered, “Camelot is safe.”

Arthur commanded the clouds to evaporate; daylight started punching through…shafts of light raked the Saxon camp—Arthur and the encroaching vampires ignited at the wrath of the sun…

The sun shone through the smoke and ash—Arthur’s body was wrapped in flames; fiercely consuming his flesh, he held himself a moment longer through sheer will, “I repent,” his last words as he fell into a blazing mass.

 

The Saxons never came back…never attacked again…

At the Castle of Camelot, a cloth was draped over Arthur’s portrait by workers, lest they would look into his eyes. The masked portrait was removed from its place, besides his father…

Silver coins poured into a molten soup; hundreds of Arthur’s faces melted. The liquid silver was pressed into molds; the new currency of Camelot bore the face of no king, only a symbol of its savior: a Dragon.

 

Dusk swept across fields of grains… Arthur’s ashes remained in a fragile silhouette as if the wind itself were afraid to disturb them.

As the setting sun dipped under the Meredor plain, a shadowy figure approached, its eyes shining with madness.

Mordred sliced a dagger across his palm and squeezed his hand into a fist…blood dribbled on the ash lips, “Drink, Master.”

Red eyes snapped open as his charred lips were filled blood.

__For if the heart_ _

__is strong enough,_ _

__the soul is reborn_ _

__with each new day._ _

__In life after life._ _

__Age after age._ _

__Forever._ _

 

 

The sun had set on the busy streets of London, people milled about, most trying to catch a ride in high hope to avoid traffic jam. Among them was a dark haired man with blue eyes, coursing through the sea of people as he tried to get home.

A body blocked his path and he collided into it. Startled, the young man bounced back and immediately apologized, “Sorry,” he said.

“You know, if you want my attention, all you have to do is ask,” a deep baritone voice spoke above his head.

Arthur chuckled as he stared at the dumbfounded familiar blue eyes, who were staring at him unimpressed.

“What’s your name?” Arthur asked, smiling.

Blue eyes narrowed, a frown on his face, lips pouted, “I don’t acquaint myself with people who thinks their king and steps into people’s lives as a hobby,” the man replied haughtily.

Arthur’s smile never faltered as he stared at the man before him; familiar face, same eyes but older. Arthur chuckled inwardly at the urge to tell the man to shut up.

Blue eyes looked at him funny and said, “Well, goodnight,” turned to walk away.

“Why think separately of this life and the next when one is born from the last,” Arthur said quickly.

Blue eyes stopped, looked at Arthur curiously, “That’s my favorite poem.”

“It speaks to you of yearning,” Arthur replied, lost in the man’s blue eyes, “of one soul pleading for another.”

“I’m Colin.”

“Arthur.”

  
  
_Fin._

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you like it! Comments and constructive criticisms are welcome. Thank you for reading.


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